


Nutshell

by crowflower



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Multi, Other, Psychological Study Disguised as Self-Insert Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, nonbinary reader, themes of mental illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28872300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowflower/pseuds/crowflower
Summary: Fate: (1) : the will or principle or determining cause by which things in general are believed to come to be as they are or events to happen as they do, (2) an inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end.Can fate—destiny—be avoided? That is the age-old question.When a unique opportunity presents itself, granting a second chance at life in exchange for trying to unravel the events leading to Anakin Skywalker's downfall, questions will be raised regarding accountability, compassion, metal health, and destiny. Can Anakin be saved from himself? Or was he always destined to bring ruin to the Galaxy?
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Original Character(s), Anakin Skywalker/Original Character(s), Anakin Skywalker/Reader, Darth Vader & Original Character(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 25





	1. Maybe I'm Alive Cuz I Really Didn't Wanna Die

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm a freak, I am afraid that  
> All the blood escaping me won't end the pain  
> And I'll be haunting all the lives that cared for me  
> I died to be the white ghost  
> Of the man that I was meant to be."
> 
> -Ghost, Badflower

Sounds of blaster fire and people screaming in pain fade dully in the background. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths as I desperately try to calm my thundering heart. Sweat rolls down my face, drawing lines on my soot-stained skin while ash falls peacefully to the ground amidst a battle where people are getting blown apart by incendiaries and innocent civilians are cut down where they stand. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was snowing. Darkness splotches the edges of my vision, and my trembling hands feel clammy as I clutch my lightsaber pathetically. Only enough focus remains to block the blaster fire beaming in my direction. My knees are weak and my stance is poor. I cannot do this much longer. I’m tired. 

I’ve always hated fighting. As a padawan, I wanted to dedicate my life to helping people with my force healing abilities, or maybe discovering ancient secrets through psychometry. I even considered being a teacher and working with the younglings. But this? War? I could have never foreseen the destruction of the Jedi Order. I never fathomed the return of the Sith. I never thought that Anakin Skywalker would betray us all.

He was our Chosen One. Our General. Our Hope. 

But he was none of those things, only our downfall. His anger, his arrogance, his fear; it killed him and now it’s killing us. 

I shouldn’t know any of this. The official story is that our beloved General was killed during Order 66, but I know the truth. After Padme’s death, Obi-Wan reached out to me to aid him in hiding away her twin children—Anakin’s children. My reputation for having a gentle heart and cool discretion made me an easy choice for the mission and I was more than happy to help protect children from the terrible fighting that began spreading like a contagion across the galaxy. I didn’t know the whole story, but I noticed that Obi-Wan had Anakin’s lightsaber. Out of curiosity, I touched it and...and I wished I never had. 

It’s been months since then. I took shelter on this unnamed planet, hiding from those who hunt down the last remaining Jedi. There was peace in helping the common folk; healing them of their ailments and protecting them from wildlife, but the Empire found me. Found us. I put these people in danger, and now I must watch them succumb to the horrors of the invasion while I try, and fail, to protect them.

I know my life is over when I hear a lightsaber blaze to life behind me. With leaden feet, I turn in the mud to face the man who has come to kill me: Darth Vader. Anakin Skywalker. Dog to the Empire. My former friend. A traitor. A puppet. A murderer. 

**“Don’t do this,”** I plead, my voice a pathetic croak.

 **“It is already done,”** Darth Vader replies ominously.

There is barely any time to raise my lightsaber before the Sith Lord begins swinging blow after blow. The heat from the sabers singes my skin as he forces all his strength down upon me. I’m not strong enough to withstand this, so I roll away just before the red saber slices into the ground where my body was just moments before.

I shouldn’t try to talk, but I am going to die. I know it in my bones, so I might as well ask my questions why I still draw breath.

 **“Why are you doing this?”** I dodge to the right, tripping in my fatigue. 

**“Because you are weak.”**

**“The Anakin I knew wouldn’t do this!”**

**“You didn’t** **_know_ ** **him. Nobody did—”** he lunges at me, and I’m too slow. The red saber blazes through sinew and bone, severing my hand from my body. I think I scream. I’m not sure. All I see is my hand still clutching my saber as it plummets to the ground, lodging itself in the mud. 

**“—Anakin was weak, so I killed him, just as I will kill you.”**

I watch in slow motion as Darth Vader brings his lightsaber over his head and brings it down over me. All I can think about is how he separates himself from the man he used to be. Just as the energy from the weapon kisses my skin with a magnificent, terrible burning, I am overwhelmed with the realization that _I don’t want to die_. There are still so many unanswered questions. I want to know how we got to this point. I need to understand the moment Anakin stopped being the hero and started being the villain. I think...I think I feel guilty. I should’ve seen the signs. All of us in the Jedi Order should have noticed all those little red flags. Why didn’t I say anything? Why did we do nothing to stop him?

My thoughts are filled with wishes to start again, to have a chance to make things right. I want to save myself. I want to save my friends. I want to save Anakin from himself. I think a silent prayer, pleading for just one more shot to discover where it all went wrong. But it doesn’t work. I am dying, and the Force is silent. My destiny is to die here, kneeling in the mud as I stare back and forth from my dismembered hand to the man I once admired above all else. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of something hopeful. I am aware of my body splitting apart in searing agony when something incredible happens.

The world falls silent. No more screaming. No more humming of the lightsaber. I open my eyes and see...nothing. The world is no more. All I can see is empty blackness; an absence of light and life. It’s unlike anything I have ever experienced before, and yet I’m not scared. Stunned, I blink. Perhaps I was expecting a clearer image to emerge from that darkness, but my eyes open to the sight of my quarters at the Jedi Temple.

What?

I lurch forward with a ragged breath. My lower body is tangled in the sheets, clothes from earlier in the day strewn on the floor with the rest of my dirty laundry. Confusion and panic claw at my heart, strangling in my throat. I inspect my hands: both intact. No scar where my severed hand was reattached. No jagged line where Darth Vader sliced through my body as if it were water. I suddenly realize that many of my scars I obtained through padawan training and my eventual knighthood are missing. Upon further inspection, my body appears much younger than it was just moments ago when I was on the brink of death. It’s softer, rounder without all the hardened muscles—unmarred and unbroken. 

I stagger out of bed on unsteady legs, moving on instinct into the adjoined bathroom. A cold shiver whispers down my spine when my gaze meets my own in the mirror. The truth strikes me like blaster fire to the heart. I am a padawan again.

As much as I want to deny it, I am fairly certain that I went back in time. This is my body, my room, but it’s been many years since then. The past is now. The present is the future. My vision spins from the confusing thoughts that cloud my mind—my stomach churns with anxiety. If I’m not careful, I might spew whatever I last consumed on the pristine marble counter. I exit the bathroom on quivering legs and sink onto the bed with a heaving sigh, resting my elbows on my knees and cradling my head in my hands. A quick glance out of the large windows in my quarters reveal a sleeping Coruscant. Lights from the city twinkle like distant stars. It is late night, possibly very early morning, meaning that I probably only have a few hours to evaluate my situation before the Jedi Temple awakens. The chronometer on my bedside table reveals further information. 24 BBY. 2:00 A.M. I am sixteen, again.

How is this possible?

I’m so overwhelmed that, at first, I don’t know where to start. A tremor runs through my body as the seconds tick by. Ten minutes ago, I was  _ dying _ . No, no, I died. I am dead. I can feel, in perfect clarity, the ghost of the excruciating pain that overwhelmed my senses as Darth Vader sliced me open from top to bottom. 

The memory causes my thoughts to spiral, the edges of my vision darkens, and it takes all of my willpower to resist the urge to faint.  _ Breathe _ , I remind myself.  _ What do I know about time travel? _ Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There is nothing in the knowledge I gained in twenty-one years that reveals the possibility of a person using the force to travel through space and time. But so little is known about the true nature of the Force. Perhaps... My fingers curl into my hair, digging into my scalp.  _ What if that was a vision? _ Maybe I never lived that life. It’s possible that I just experienced the longest, most vivid vision in the history of Jedi. However, every text I have ever read about prophetic visions reveals that most glimpses of the future are hazy, at best. They rarely reveal anything in detail. 

This all feels too...big. Too much like divine providence. Was I not begging for a second chance? Were my last thoughts not of an opportunity to try preventing Anakin from turning to the dark side? Everything suddenly begins to make sense. What does it matter if I actually was sent backwards in time or not? I have been granted the gift of foresight. The unique knowledge I possess just might enable me to save everyone, to save  _ him _ . 

Inspired, I begin to paw through the disheveled bedding, desperately searching for the old leather journal I used to keep beneath my pillow. The journal is lodged between the mattress and the wall, it’s leather bent and worn from use. For a moment, I gaze upon its plain face with a sort of reverence. Most people switched to video logs long ago, but there is something so personal about writing with ink and paper. Recording myself always felt like I was performing for anyone who might happen upon the video, but writing is intimate; just me and my thoughts, preserved through whatever code I choose. The most recent entry is dated two days past, but it is so distant in my timeline that even reading my younger self’s inane whining about failing a sparring match procures only the vaguest of memories. 

I fear that my knowledge of my life before I died will become a vague memory, too. If that life and it's terrible end was really just the most frightening dream that I have ever experienced, then I want to ensure that it is captured perfectly in my notes before the memory is corrupted over time. Thus, I begin recording all of my thoughts in as close to chronological order as I can manage. First, I name all my family and friends who I lost in the Clone Wars and after the execution of Order 66. It is important to me that I remember who they were, why I loved them, and how I lost them. Then, I list everything I know about Anakin Skywalker and how his life is linked to the downfall of the Jedi Order. Although I didn’t know much back then, I go into as much detail as possible when recording the events in my notes. Any missing observation just might mean the difference between success and failure. 

Nighttime becomes early morning, and the first rays of light begin peaking through the towering structures of the capital in the distance as I finish transcribing my life. Gravity tugs at my eyes, coaxing my body onto the comfortable warmth of the bed. Today has been exhausting. Scenes of slaughter, terror, and death flash behind my eyes as I try to cleanse my thoughts in favor of more hopeful imaginings. As I surrender myself to the lull of sleep, memories of my life and subsequent death fade away, leaving behind only the vaguest impressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The MC will be of undefined gender throughout the story, however I will likely describe them as presenting more feminine. I admittedly know very little about the Star Wars universe, but I will do my best to create an accurate story without ignoring too much of the canon. Please forgive me if I get some of the details wrong—I am definitely taking advantage that the Force is just Space Magic, so consider yourself forewarned. I also plan to focus more on the relationships and psychology more than the plot. 
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy & let me know what you think in the comments.


	2. Who Cares What's Behind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when a person dies? Where does their consciousness go? Perhaps it returns to their past, granting them the temporary gift of foresight. But the deceased consciousness is doomed to be erased by the living mind, leaving behind only vague impressions that something has happened before and terrifying dreams that resurface as soon as the mind slips into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the first chapter before reading this update, I recommend going back to read it again, as I've updated it a bit with stuff that was supposed to be included in this one but fit more with the previously published chapter.
> 
> "Here I lay  
> Just like always  
> Don't let me  
> Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go  
> Take me to the edge"  
> \- Passenger, Deftones

I awaken to the sound of heavy knocking on my door. Slumber clouds my vision and dulls my hearing. My eyes are heavy as I blearily look around, straining to focus on the chronometer which I suddenly realize is chirping its alarm. Ah. I must’ve overslept. 

**“Hold on!”** I say to the person at my door.

It’s a struggle to get out of bed. I feel as if my bones have been replaced with dense metal, requiring serious focus to get my limbs to respond in the way I want them to. A heavy fog fills my mind. After a moment, I manage to pull on my discarded robes from the day before and I shamble to the door, pulling it open with a sleepy smile in greeting to the person behind it.

 **“Good morning, Master Una”** I murmur, a yawn interrupting anything I might’ve added.

A tall togruta woman stands before me, observing me with a concerned frown. Her skin is a beautiful pale green with unique facial markings that make her look almost feline. The deep emerald green of her lekku reminds me of the forests on Naboo. 

**“Child, you look like you’ve barely slept,”** she says with a furrowed brow. Long, slender fingers brush against my forehead. **“Are you ill?”**

I shake my head. **“No, Master, I just couldn’t sleep last night.”**

Una frowns once more before stepping through the threshold. She turns, glancing toward the empty hallway before shutting the door behind her. 

**“Is it those dreams again?”** Una asks, taking a seat on my bed. She motions for me to join her. The sheets are rumpled, my pillow in disarray. There is no denying that whatever rest I got was far from peaceful. Something jabs the underside of my thigh—my journal. I set it aside while I ponder my master’s words. For a moment, her question confuses me. I could have sworn that I stayed up agonizing over _something_ , but I can’t place it. It feels like a memory, but perhaps I did just have another bad dream, after all. The thought resurfaces fractured images of screaming faces, a red lightsaber, and an all-consuming darkness. 

**“I dreamt that—”** it takes a moment to gather the pieces. **“—that the Jedi were betrayed and I was running and hiding until they found me, and then they killed me. I remember** **_dying,_ ** **Master. A red saber cut me open and I was dead, but then something sent me back. Isn’t that strange?”**

The words flow from my mouth before I can stop them. I am left feeling as if I have said far too much, so I shrug in a show of nonchalance. But Master Una is not so easily fooled.

**“A red saber? Do you mean you saw yourself killed by a Sith?”**

**“I think so? I’m not sure...but I felt like I knew the person who killed me.”**

Panic glints in the logruta’s beautiful dark eyes. Suddenly, I want to take back everything I’ve said. Because I’m beginning to remember staying up to write in that journal and I am terrified that it took me so long to remember something I wrote only a few hours prior. 

**“I know that you’ve always had visions but,”** Una trails off. **“This is different. We must notify the council, at once.”**

 **“No!”** Panic grips at my throat. I need to calm myself. **“No, Master, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about.”**

My heart thunders, threatening to break free of its confines. I can see from the twist of her lips that she is displeased by my answer. Her doubt radiates from her in waves, drowning me in her concern. She does not want to let this go, but she doesn’t want to push me, either. It is a long while before Master Una nods her assent.

 **“As you wish…”** she sighs deeply before rising to her feet and straightening her robes with an idle hand. **“Wash up and report to the training rooms in an hour. I would like you to practice your forms and sparring with some of the other padawans. After that, you may have the rest of the day off to...recover.”**

I know Master Una is planning to consult with the other masters about the latest installment of my strange, fear-inducing visions, but I am grateful that she is not making me accompany her. I don’t know if I would survive a meeting with the council; I trust them, I really do, but I know that any doubt they may show will convince me that I was making it up in my head and it’s nothing to worry about. I am too easily manipulated to serve the needs of others.

Una excuses herself shortly after, leaving me alone in my room while I gaze upon the journal’s worn leather face. I am scared to open it, to read its contents. Whatever information resides within its pages must be disconcerting, indeed. What’s worse is that I _know_ I wrote down important information from my dreams, but, at the time, it wasn’t a dream. It felt like a memory. So why can I no longer remember it in clear detail? My fingers tremble as they hover over the cover, reluctant to flip to the latest entry and become burdened once more within whatever knowledge my brain sought to conceal from itself. I hesitate a second more before I draw in a steadying breath and begin to read the details of my dream described in my own words. It all comes rushing back at once. Anakin’s betrayal. The rise of Darth Vader. My friends and Mentors executed at the hands of the Clones. My entire life and it’s quick, traumatic end. And yet, it doesn’t feel real. This is too much to be just a prophetic dream, but I no longer feel like the person who wrote these words. I am not the me who lived that life.

_‘Anakin is the key. Find a way to save him, or you must stop him before it’s too late.’_

It makes sense that Anakin, the Chosen One, would be at the center of the disastrous timeline that I apparently experienced. I struggle—or perhaps I am hesitant—to envision him as the enemy of the Jedi. Granted, I have only interacted with the boy a couple of times before he exceeded me in skill, but he is brave and smart and powerful. The only criticisms I have ever heard of him is that he can sometimes be arrogant and impulsive, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that someone will turn to the dark side.

Furthermore, I think my other self severely overestimated my ability to get close to Anakin. He possesses an unfathomable power and is constantly getting sent on missions with his master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Although we have trained together before, it is unlikely that he will remember me in any great detail. I have many friendly acquaintances and few friends—despite my likeable personality, I lack any notable traits aside from being the padawan with strange, concerning dreams with an uncomfortable tendency to come to fruition; or possibly being the padawan everyone suspects will fail my trials because my skills with my lightsaber leave much to be desired. So, I rescind my original statement: I have two notable traits for which everyone chooses to avoid me out of discomfort. 

A deep sigh escapes my lips. I don’t think I’m cut out for this. Surely, a single person cannot prevent the dire events that consumed the entire galaxy? Especially someone like me. I am sub-par at dueling and lacking in ambition. Everyone implies that I belong with the Agricorps or Explorcorps due to my proficient skill in non-combat abilities—only Master Una believes I have what it takes to become a Jedi Knight. 

I give myself a moment longer to feel overwhelmed by the supernatural situation I have found myself in before I force myself to get up and shower so I won’t be late for training. 

…

Sparring goes exactly as I expected: all my peers outperformed me and everyone watched me with sideways glances. Shame heats my face as I make a quick escape from the training room. Let them talk. As much as it hurts me to know that everyone doubts my ability to graduate into a Jedi Knight, I know that I am strong in the Force. I will succeed, even if it must be achieved through unconventional means. Besides, I know from what I wrote in the journal that I became a fully fledged Jedi, albeit due to the onset of the clone wars. Nonetheless, I exceeded their expectations regardless of how it happened. That thought comforts me.

I navigate on instinct to the gardens on the temple grounds. The floral perfume in the air is refreshing. Although I don’t remember much about my homeworld before I was brought to the temple as an initiate, I will never forget the towering mountains and aromatic plant life. Manicured gardens aren’t quite the same as rugged wildlife, but it's much better than the stuffy interior of the temple. The freedom of the open sky and familiar scents soothe my mind. Images from my embarrassing sparring match intermingle with hazy images from my oldest memories as I sink onto the grass and try to think happy thoughts. 

Just when the foggy turmoil in my mind begins to ease into clear skies, a sudden shout of frustration shatters the illusion of peace. 

Concern spurs me into action. I rise to my feet in a single, fluid motion and begin to navigate the maze of ornamental plants in search of the source. To my left, beneath the leaves of a low-hanging tree, I can see the shape of a boy my age punching the plant’s thick trunk.

 **“Are you okay?”** I ask, voice soft. 

I am only a couple of paces away from him, so I notice the moment his body tenses at the sound of my voice. A long, slender braid curls over his left shoulder and his robes are worn down in a way that makes me think it’s his favorite set and he wears as often as possible. 

Slowly, as if it brings him pain, the padawan turns to face me. 

The vibrant blue of his eyes strikes me. So crystalline, so clear are they that I am immediately reminded of the sky, but there is a fire that burns in his gaze which is so unlike his angelic first-impression. Then, in quick succession, I notice the stubborn set of his mouth and the sandy blonde of his hair and I realize that this is Anakin.  
  
 _Anakin is the key..._

 **“I’m fine,”** he replies, lips pressed into a thin line.

 **“Sure you are, but what’s bothering you?”** I press. My voice is kind, my stance open. 

My own confidence surprises me. Perhaps the messages in my journal inspired me to act more boldly. I can tell that Anakin is suspicious of me—he must expect me to berate him for yelling and disturbing the peace. My inner shyness screams at me, begging me to leave the boy alone and return to my own sulking. However, I doubt I will ever again receive such a perfect opportunity to open a line of communication between myself and the Chosen One. And maybe I’m just a little bit curious to find out what would make a boy of seventeen punch a tree.

The brilliant blue of his eyes shine with distrust. A long silence extends between us, but I do not avert my gaze. It takes all my willpower to maintain eye contact. 

**“The masters frustrate me,”** Anakin admits finally. 

Satisfied by the positive response, I take a seat on the lush grass, patting the space beside me for him to join me. He complies, and I offer him an encouraging smile.

**“May I ask why?”**

Anakin looks away, suddenly interested in tearing up blades of grass. I can _feel_ the conflict within him, but I choose not to mention it. I have never liked when other Jedi tell me that they can sense my feelings. I understand it is one of the most common force abilities, but it always feels a little patronizing to hear someone say it. 

**“I have always been told that I’m the Chosen One, that I’m destined for greatness, but no matter how hard I work or how well I do in training, they always find something to criticize me for.”**

**“I’m sorry,”** I say with genuine sympathy. **“It must feel like you can never meet their expectations of you.”** **  
**

 **“Exactly!”**

His expression is upset, but I sense that he feels better now that he can talk about it. I completely understand—there’s a reason why I keep a journal in the first place. I understand the importance in maintaining an emotional balance and avoiding attachments, but I could never understand why other Jedi were so afraid to talk about their feelings. 

**“I guess I’m in the opposite situation,”** I say after a moment. **“Everyone, except for my master, expects me to fail my trials.”** In exchange for him opening up, I offer a piece of my own struggles. It seems like the right thing to do, but I’m afraid that I might have misread the situation and Anakin doesn’t care to hear anything about me, at all.

Just when I begin to regret opening my big mouth, Anakin asks: **“Why?”**

 **“I’m not very good at sparring,”** I reply with a shrug. **“And I’m not very competitive—I usually let everyone else win.”**

He laughs, and my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I’m not surprised that he finds my situation funny, but it still hurts my feelings. Anakin seems to notice his mistake and rushes to make amends.

**“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I’ve just never met anyone who would let their opponent beat them without putting up a fight!”**

**“I just don’t like being aggressive,”** I say a bit defensively.

**“Well there are more defensive fighting styles. Like Shiem or Djem So. Soresu, too.”**

I nod. He has a point. Why force myself to learn a fighting style that I don’t like? 

**“That’s true...but even if I do switch, who will I practice with besides my master? All the other padawans think I’m a joke.”**

**“I could teach you.”**

Anakin’s words stun me. I stare at him dumbly, trying to process the nature of his offer. Admittedly, I’m a little suspicious of his intentions. I have not experienced many padawans who are truly selfish. At this stage of our training, many are overly ambitious and competitive, sometimes even to the point of showing up their peers. The last thing I need is for everyone to find out the Chosen One is making a show of my pathetic combat abilities. No, no, there is no reason to doubt the boy. With his upsetting thoughts forgotten, he just radiates kindness and warmth. I am a bit guilty to have thought less of him, if even for just a moment.

 **“Truly?”** I ask, voice incredulous.

He gestures with his hand, waving off my remark. 

**“It’s no big deal,”** He shrugs. **“I don’t know how much time I will have in between missions with Obi-Wan, but I’m happy to help you when I have some free time.”**

**“I—well—thank you. You are very generous.”**

He smiles, but says nothing further. For several minutes, we sit in silence and enjoy each other’s company. It’s strange; I would have expected a sort of tension between us, as Anakin is well-known for his arrogance. But maybe people have him wrong. Whatever the case, I am content to sit and be near him. It’s not often that I spend time with anyone aside from Master Una, much less with someone close to my own age.

My gaze wanders from the petals of a nearby flower to the space between Anakin and I. The boy idly plucks at grass, like before. A breeze disturbs his braids and I watch a moment as it dances with the wind. I am admiring the nimble, agile movement of his fingers when I notice that his knuckles are cracked and bleeding—presumably from when he punched the tree. 

**“Does your hand hurt?”** I ask, chagrin to break the comfortable silence.

Anakin glances down at his wound and makes a nonchalant expression.

**“It’s been better, but I’ll live.”**

**“I can heal it for you, if that’s okay?”**

His brows arch in curiosity. I notice a tiny scar at the outside corner of his left eye and a faint smattering of freckles along his cheekbones. 

**“Seriously?”**

**“It’s one of the few things I’m good at.”** That’s an understatement. I know I’m good at a lot of things, but it’s generally skills that are considered to be of low value to most Jedi. While they hone their force push and dueling abilities, I study tirelessly on the disciplines of force healing and foresight. They come naturally to me, after all. 

Anakin studies my face. The intensity of his stare is nearly unbearable, but I am freed from its power when he finally offers me his injured hand.

My fingers gently brush over his skin as my other hand lightly holds his own. I shut my eyes, focusing inwards on my connection with the Force. By now, the ritual is as easy as breathing. As I inhale and exhale, I channel some of my energy into Anakin. This small sacrifice is the price I pay for the accelerated healing of cracked and bruised flesh. 

A dazzling smile dances upon the boy’s lips. I am stunned into silence, content to enjoy this moment of unabashed pleasure. 

**“Wow!”** He exclaims, eyes twinkling. **“Thanks for that—”**

 **“Anakin!”** a voice calls from across the garden. **“Hurry up or we’ll be late!”**

The boy offers me an apologetic smile as he rises to his feet, offering his hand to me so that I can join him. 

**“Sorry, but Master Obi-Wan and I are going to meet with the council. Maybe I can find you later and can start practicing tonight?”**

**“Oh, okay,”** I say stupidly. **“See you then.”**

I try to call upon some of my early confidence to say something more, something meaningful, but the words die in my mouth as I watch Anakin job across the lawn to join Obi-Wan. I wonder what the meeting is about. Will they be discussing Anakin’s progress, or possibly criticizing the lack of it? My heart jolts—I’m surprised by my sudden investment in the boy’s life. Earlier today, I was tasked with the mission to save Anakin or doom the future. It was ominous and overwhelming, but after speaking with him for the first time in years, that mission is beginning to feel more like a walk in the park. He is fool-hardy and impulsive, but he is also one of the few to ever show a genuine interest in me. Maybe that is what I like about him: Anakin radiates honesty. Everything he says is his truth. It’s refreshing. 

I stare a moment longer at the point where Anakin disappeared from sight before finally turning away and heading back to my quarters. I find myself grinning like a fool all the way back, giddy at the thought of sparring with the boy who showed me kindness—the very same boy destined to kill me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are very few good sources on what actually goes on during padawan training, so I am taking the liberty of establishing that while padawans primarily train with their masters, there are also resources for them to practice amongst themselves to learn and grow with peers at a similar skill level.
> 
> Also, MC is 16 and Anakin is 17ish. In case it was a bit confusing, the MC did forget their past life. It remains only in fragments, and what they wrote in the journal. 
> 
> I did post this at 4am so please forgive any errors/mistakes. I will go back and fix them soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts in the comments :)


	3. And You Still Walk Out Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How does it feel  
> To be  
> All that you are  
> All that you want to be  
> Is that what you want to be?
> 
> And how does it feel  
> To be  
> Just like your friends  
> To catch up on what you missed  
> As simple as you can get  
> And you still  
> Walk out alone"
> 
> \- How Does It Feel?, Citizen

Anakin doesn’t find me later that day. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Enough time has passed for me to have completely dissected and analyzed every moment of my brief, five minute interaction with him. From every angle, Anakin looks like a kind-hearted boy who struggles with his temper and is plagued by insecurity—not unlike every other padawan our age. Even so, the knowledge inscribed on the pages of my journal taunt me with its dark prophecies. Anakin Skywalker becomes a liar. A traitor. A murderer. Anakin Skywalker will be responsible for the destruction of the Jedi, and I am destined to be cut down by his saber. I think about it in the morning as I eat my breakfast, I think about it when I train with Master Una despite her worried looks, and I think about it so much before sleep that I wake up gasping and crying from a terrible nightmare that is somehow worse than the one I actually lived. 

When Anakin finally arrives at my door near the conclusion to the fourth day since our meeting in the garden, I have over-thought the situation to a point where I now teeter precariously on the edge of anxiety and fear. The door looms before me; and with it, a decision. Do I succumb to my doubts and hide from a chance to befriend the boy who stars in my nightmares? Or do I allow Anakin the opportunity to show me who he truly is beyond my own biased perception of him? My compassion and curiosity win in the end—it simply isn’t fair to judge Anakin on who I think he will become instead of who he is now.

As I open the door to gaze upon the blue-eyed boy, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips, I cannot help but imagine his face behind the mask of the Sith in my dreams. A wave of guilt immediately washes over me.  _ Don’t give into the fear, _ I remind myself.

**“Hey,”** he greets shyly.

**“Hi,”** I reply, massaging the meaty part of my palm—an anxious habit. 

We stare at each other for a moment in painfully awkward silence. 

**“Sorry I didn’t come find you sooner,”** Anakin says finally.  **“Some stuff came up.”**

**“Oh, that’s fine. I know you’re always busy,”** I offer him a nervous smile. 

**“Are you free now?”**

**“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m free.”**

If Anakin notices the anxiety vibrating beneath my skin or the nervous twitch of my fingers, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he flashes me one of his dazzling smiles. A small dimple, barely noticeable, emerges on the left side of his mouth, tucked just beneath the muscle of his cheek. Something so small transforms an expression that might have otherwise been interpreted as arrogant into something charming, something sweet. Images of Darth Vader’s helmet flash in my mind’s eye. I stiffen reflexively. This time, Anakin notices. 

**“Is something wrong?”** A crease forms between his furrowed brows.

I shake my head.  **“No, I’m okay. Just randomly thought of something embarrassing—let’s get going.”**

Anakin does not press the issue, following me obediently to the training room. I make an attempt at idle conversation in order to soothe the strange tension I created between us. I am ashamed of myself for feeding the paranoia festering within me. It goes against everything the Jedi have taught me thus far. I will do well to heed their warning of indulging the prophetic visions given to me by the Force.  _ But even Master Una was concerned when I told her… _

Our arrival at the deserted training room provides a much needed distraction from the dangerous spiral of my internal dialogue. The room is circular with high, rounded walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that open onto a magnificent view of Coruscant at night. A magnificently intricate tile mandala commands the center of the room, drawing the eye in peaceful, looping patterns. Beautiful in its carefully crafted simplicity. Anakin retrieves practice sabers carved from the finest woods and balanced to perfection. 

**“Are you afraid of me?”** Anakin asks as he hands me the wooden saber.

The blood drains from my face. I can scarcely breathe. His question does not surprise me, but I am unprepared, nonetheless. 

**“I can sense it,”** he continues, turning away from me and pacing toward the windows.  **“The masters are afraid of me, too. Except Obi-Wan.”**

**“I’m...I’m sorry,”** I stammer, struggling to find the right words.  **“It’s just…”**

Anakin looks at me from over his shoulder; a wounded expression marrs his handsome, golden features—striking me in the heart. The masters and I fear this boy for things he has not done, things he is not guaranteed to do. What kind of damage does this inflict upon a person? Anakin is only seventeen years old. He has not earned such feelings.

**“I guess I let myself become poisoned by things I heard instead of focusing on the person I know...It’s not fair to you,”** I say. I am not ready to tell him the whole truth, but I cannot lie to him, either. He deserves as much honesty as I can grant him.  **“I really am happy that you offered to help me. I hope I didn’t ruin our chance at friendship.”**

One second passes. Two seconds. Three, four, five. A heavy silence weighs over us, crushing my lungs and stealing my breath. His back is toward me, head lowered so I cannot see his face in the shadowed reflection on the window. Anxiety makes my skin crawl, nails scratching idly at my flesh in an effort to relieve some of the discomfort.

**“We will start by practicing the basic stances,”** He says finally.  **“Copy what I do.”**

There is no spoken forgiveness, no acknowledgement of my apology, but I sense that he is willing to give me another chance. I did not expect to be forgiven, so I am thankful that he chose to continue with the lessons despite the offences against him. Once the strained energy between us relaxes, I learn that Anakin is an attentive teacher. Occasionally, he starts becoming frustrated with my inability to catch onto a skill immediately, but he catches himself and demonstrates it in a different way. We do not speak much during the lesson—it is much too awkward to risk any conversation beyond what is needed for me to learn. After two hours, our arms begin to grow weary and gravity tugs coaxes our eyes to shut. 

I am surprised when Anakin offers to walk me back to my room. I was certain that he would want to be rid of me as soon as possible after our earlier discussion. Although we are silent, it is not an unpleasant journey back to my quarters. We both stink of sweat, but the exertion drained us of negative emotions and placed us in an almost meditative state. 

**“Thank you, Anakin,”** I say, breaking the silence.

**“You’re welcome,”** he replies. He does not meet my gaze.

Ah, so he is still upset. Something tells me that, for some reason, he is upset at himself instead of at me, despite my own fears causing the tension in the first place.

**“May I hug you?”** I ask. 

Anakin looks surprised: brows arching, the blue of his eyes glimmering as his lips part ever-so-slightly. For a moment, he says nothing before nodding his consent.

Shyly, I lift my arms and wrap him in a friendly embrace. His body is stiff beneath my touch, but not unwilling. I do not think anyone has shown him any physical affection in a very long time—not unusual, really. The Jedi, with all their talk of compassion, do not openly touch each other. Not even their closest friends. That was my greatest struggle when I was an initiate; my family was always hugging and wrestling and holding hands and pinching cheeks. When I am at my lowest points, I always crave the ghosts of my parents’ touch. Perhaps Anakin is the same. He was brought to the Jedi much later than most, so he must remember his mother’s embrace in vivid detail. 

**“I really am sorry about earlier,”** I admit with great sincerity, releasing him from my touch. A smile creeps tentatively across my features as I step shyly toward my door. It is difficult to meet his gaze, but, when I do, I don’t regret it.  **“Sleep well.”**

**“Goodnight,”** he says, still standing in the same position he was in before I hugged him.

As I shut the door, I am keenly aware of his gaze on my back—staring, even after the door created a solid barrier between us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of a much longer chapter, but I'm not sure when it will be finished so I hope you enjoyed this shorter scene in the meantime :3
> 
> consistent characterization is so difficult but i'm trying my best
> 
> as always, thank you for reading & lmk what you think <3


	4. Sitting in an Angry Chair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Little boy made a mistake, yeah  
> Pink cloud has now turned to grey, oh  
> All that I want is to play  
> Get on your knees, time to pray, oh
> 
> Loneliness is not a phase  
> Field of pain is where I graze  
> Serenity is far away  
> Saw my reflection and cried
> 
> So little hope that I died, oh  
> Feed me your lies, open wide  
> Weight of my heart, not the size, oh"
> 
> \- Angry Chair, Alice in Chains

Dueling with lightsabers is not the only skill I struggle to master. However, it is not the more complex abilities like psychometry or force healing that give me difficulty. It is meditation. Traditional methods of sitting and separating the mind from the body never really work for me—sometimes my scalp starts to itch to the point of madness, or I simply forget that I’m supposed to be meditating. I find it to be incredibly infuriating.

Master Una enters the room, the heels of her boots clicking smartly against the smooth tile floors. My eyes flutter open at the sound. The tall togruta woman dons fashionable robes in dark green monotones: an emerald colored long-sleeve cropped at the navel and comfortable, form-fitting trousers in a deep black to match the color of her eyes. The heavy green robe she wears serves to make the outfit slightly more subdued for the sake of temple dress-code. She is always a very impressive sight, nonetheless.

**“Here, use this,”** Una says, tossing me something.

I am surprised by the object’s weight when I catch it. A small sphere of dense copper metal rests in my palm. A look of confusion flickers across my face.

**“Roll that in your palm while you meditate,”** Master Una clarifies.  **“That, or simple pacing can help you meditate if you struggle to sit still. There are more than just one way to do it.”**

**“Oh, thank you, Master!”** I reply, a smile tugging at the edge of my lips. 

She returns my grin; the expression softening the harsh lines of her face.

Every day I am reminded why I am grateful that Master Una chose to train me. She notices my struggles before I even consider speaking about them. She is, by far, one of the most kind and observant masters in the temple. Una has not yet lost her patience with my strange struggles, and encourages me to find different solutions that work for me. 

**“Did you need something?”** I ask when she doesn’t join me in meditating.

**“The council requested that we take young Skywalker along with us later today.”**

**“Really?”** My stomach twists.  **“What for?”**

**“His master is being sent on an assignment on which Anakin can’t accompany him,”** Master Una states as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world.  **“Plus, they’ve observed an improvement in his attitude since he began helping you train, so I imagine they think you’re a good influence in Obi-Wan’s absence.”**

On one hand, I’m absolutely flattered that the council believes that I am a good person to have around, on the other, I am utterly shocked that everyone seems to know that Anakin and I train together. For a little over a month, we met once or twice a week to practice sparring when the rest of the temple turned in for bed. 

**“How did you know—”**

**“—That you and Skywalker were training together?”** Una laughs, black eyes sparkling with mirth.  **“Dear child, you have vastly improved in your sparring lessons in mere weeks compared to the years I have been training you. Besides, everyone knows that Skywalker is skilled at Shien and Djem so—I know you prefer non-aggressive fighting styles, but you really have developed a talent for Form V.”**

I blush, embarrassed to have been caught. Not that I am ashamed to have people know that I practice with Anakin, of course, but it always felt like a special secret between us. I am, however, quite pleased with Master Una’s praise. I did not realize that I improved so quickly. 

**“I’m sorry for not telling you myself, Master.”**

**“No need to apologize, dear,”** Una says with a reassuring smile.  **“I am happy that you are finally making friends. Skywalker, too. Now, come, we must prepare for our departure to the ruins.”**

As I follow her down the hall, I reflect on her words. Am I truly friends with Anakin? I suppose that could be an accurate description, though we rarely talk about anything else aside from the standard moaning and groaning of young padawans. Are we friendly? Yes. Are we friends? I don’t think so. Not yet, at least. That would mean we associate with each other outside of practice sessions—I rarely see him enough to schedule a time to practice, much less goof off after hours. I wouldn’t mind it if we became friends, though. Not just because my past—future?—self told me to, but because Anakin is actually really fun to be around.

The padawan in question waits by himself in the hangar, watching the ships as they fly gracefully through the sky. Anakin doesn’t acknowledge our approach, at first. The hems of his earthen brown robes whisper across the ground as he shifts his weight, preparing for our arrival yet refusing to surrender his careful observations of the crafts flying freely just beyond the confines of the temple.

**“Hello!”** I greet in soft voice as Master Una and I arrive within several paces of the boy.

Shockingly blue eyes find my own, a tiny smile offered up in greeting, before his gaze drags over to find the togruta woman beside me. He subtly inclines his head in a respectful nod.

**“Ready to depart?”** He asks. I notice his voice is devoid of its usual bravado and arrogance; probably out of respect to Una. I look to my master for confirmation before I move to board the ship, the others following close behind. Anakin and I are silent during the flight, content to listen to Una explain her intentions for our field trip. 

**“We are going to the archives on Alderaan,”** she tells us.  **“You have already learned of the Old Republic, but there are a few things I want you—”** she looks at me pointedly. **”—to practice your skills of psychometry on.”**

**“And what am I to do, Master?”** Anakin asks.

**“You will learn, Skywalker,”** Una says with a faint smile.  **“You have done an impressive job by teaching my padawan the Forms. Now, they will teach you something in return, if possible.”**

**“And what if I do not have the skill?”** He counters. 

I can sense his fear of failure beginning to fester deep within him. Psychometry is a skill one is born with—there is no shame in failing to resurrect an ancient memory. I do not think Anakin sees it that way, however. Master Una does not seem to share his anxieties.

**“My padawan is also a budding historian. They can tell you much about Alderaan and the Old Republic.”**

The togruta’s voice wavers on the edge of bragging, the pride clear in her midnight eyes. Her praise brings a warm blush to my cheeks. Nothing she says is incorrect regarding my skills, but it is odd to be spoken as if I were a prodigy before the padawan known as the Chosen One. 

**“I’m sure you’ll do great, Anakin,”** I reassure him.  **“No need to worry.”**

...

We spend the first hour walking the halls of the grand Jedi Archives, observing impressive artifacts from days long past and listening to Master Una speak about the unique talents of Jedi Masters from the old republic. I am surprised by the murals and other artwork depicting iconic battle scenes from Alderaan’s history. Although the other Jedi buildings feature elegant architecture featuring large windows and enormous chambers with circular motifs, I do not often see paintings or sculptures or anything beyond the occasional tile mosaic. I do not remember much about my childhood, but I do remember that music, art, and storytelling were key parts of my family’s culture.

My fingers find the familiar grooves of a precious stone—a corusca gem—from my homeworld, gifted to me by my eldest sister upon my departure to the Jedi Temple as a young child. In many places, it is a valuable resource owned by the richest of the rich. Not to me. My family worked in the mines on Sarka, digging tirelessly for gems like the one that rests in my pocket. It is my last tether to my childhood before the Jedi. Blurred images of my parents’ faces dance amongst the ghosts of long-forgotten lullabies as I stare up at a depiction of Grand Master Satele’s battle against the Sith here on Alderaan.  _ I wish I could go home. _

Anakin stands near large windows that overlook the magnificent sun-filled valley beyond. He lost interest in the history lessons half an hour ago. The boy does not possess much interest in the random knowledge that Una and I rattle off—his eyes glaze over in boredom every time we try to rope him into the discussion. I know he probably doesn’t mean to be rude, but disappointment and annoyance begin to fester within me. I cannot keep track of how many times I patiently listened to him explain the backgrounds on how different Jedi lightsaber forms came into existence. Combat is not my passion. That much is obvious. However, I know that Anakin loves it, so I do my best to be a good listener. That is the polite thing to do. And the kind one, too. Is it foolish of me to expect Anakin to reciprocate? 

Perhaps we truly aren’t friends, after all. 

No, no, no. It’s selfish of me to think that way. It would be nice if he asked me questions about my interests in the same way I would ask about his, but it’s not a requirement.

**“I’ll be back in a moment,”** Master Una announces suddenly, jolting me from my thoughts.  **“Why don’t you try practicing in the meantime?”**

Evening sunlight casts the togruta woman’s pallid green skin in a golden light as she crosses the chamber to join a robed figure at the other side. Una moves with uncanny grace, cloak billowing elegantly behind her. She touches hands briefly with the stranger before they move further down the hall and beyond my line of sight.

Anakin’s piercing blue eyes strike me with their intensity when I turn to face him.

**“You ready?”**

**“Sure,”** he replies with a nonchalant shrug.

We are surrounded by many artifacts with historical significance, but few of them suit our needs. My eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing the topmost swell of my cheeks as I meditate on the force. Threads of energy pulse between myself and my surroundings—Anakin practically  _ glows _ . For a moment, I find myself distracted by the unfathomable power that lives within him. Awe and fear blossom in my chest at the realization. I force myself to direct my attention back to the task at hand. There is no point in allowing my old fear of a possible future to pollute my thoughts any more than it already has.

Meditation leads me to a damaged locket in a long-forgotten display case. A cloud of energy hangs over it. My heart breaks at the feeling it evokes; something terrible must have happened to the locket’s previous owner.

**“Anakin!”** I call over my shoulder.  **“Practice with this one.”**

I desperately want to reach out and touch it, but something tells me that it’s best to allow Anakin to attempt it on his own. He extends his hand, fingertips brushing gently over the locket’s weathered face. Tension builds within him. Fear of failure festers like an untreated wound.

**“Take a deep breath and reach out with the force,”** I say, placing an encouraging hand on his shoulder.  **“Connect with its energy.”**

I don’t want to explain  _ too _ much. Psychometry is instinctual and requires practice. When I first started, I only received whispers. Even after a year of training, the connections with the past are filled with static and only reveal the briefest, most emotional moments. Any explanation of what someone is supposed to experience when using psychometry always made me anxious and caused me to lose focus. In my experience, the skill is a little bit different for everyone who uses it; thus, my reluctance to give Anakin any sort of expectation. 

Everything is silent aside from our quiet breaths. Anakin’s eyes are shut, concealing the beautiful blue of his irises. The slight crease between his brows appears as he strains to focus. I don’t realize that I’m staring until suddenly his eyes flutter open, locking me in his gaze. 

**“I didn’t see anything,”** he says in a clipped tone.

**“That's normal. I didn’t see anything my first time either.”** I shrug.  **“Did you feel anything, at least? Any residual emotion?”**

**“Nothing.”**

**“Nothing?”** I repeat incredulously. That surprises me. Anakin should be natural at this. 

He shakes his head, lips twisting into a snarl.  **“Absolutely. Nothing.”**

**“Try again.**

A flash of annoyance sparks in his eyes with all the heat of pure blue flame. Fear clenches at my throat, silencing me while I struggled to remember how to breathe. Somehow, I managed to arrange my expression into something resembling stern disapproval. I stare at him pointedly until he relents and returns his focus to the locket. 

**“Slow your breaths and become receptive to the past.”**

Once more, Anakin’s eyes close and the rhythm of his breaths begin to slow until I start to suspect that he might have fallen asleep if he wasn’t standing upright. Time slowly creeps by. Seconds. Then minutes. Psychometry is almost instantaneous once the connection is made so it should not be taking this long. The dramatic angles of Anakin’s face sharpen—becoming harsh as frustration overwhelms his focus.

**“This is a waste of time,”** he growls suddenly. The boy pushes back against the display case and strides to the other side of the room before I can even get a word in. Anger clouds over him in an intimidating red aura. Even as he forces himself to calm down, the frustration simmers like a monster in the shadows of his soul. 

As it turns out, psychometry is one of the few Jedi abilities that Anakin  _ can’t _ do. Not without trying, at least. And, from what I can tell, failure is unacceptable for Anakin Skywalker.

I want to approach him, to console him, maybe ask what prevented him from making the connection; but resentment festers within my heart, infecting my cool judgement. I want to shout at him for being so entitled to success that he doesn’t even want to try just as much as I want to comfort him. Perhaps it is because I am so accustomed to failure that my own anger drowns out my compassion. I  _ never _ learn things before the third attempt. I constantly struggle to prove to everyone around me that I am worthy, that I am capable of achieving things that they expect to be beyond my reach. It’s upsetting that Anakin Skywalker, wielder of unfathomable power, just throws a tantrum every time something does not go his way. His mind prevents him from success, while mine is the only thing that allows me to triumph in the face of adversity. 

A loud clap echoes through the room. Master Una stands at the doorway, gesturing for us to join her. Piercing black eyes flicker over to observe Anakin, drinking in the sight of the anger radiating off of him in palpable waves. Una looks at me, inclining her head with an unspoken question.  _ What happened? _

I shake my head and look away. _Don't worry about it._

She nods subtly in acknowledgement. 

**“Come this way, young ones. The Keepers of the Archives granted us permission to inspect a very special collection of Jedi history.”**

Anakin continues to pout as Master Una leads us to another chamber in the archives. My master would normally scold any other padawan for this sort of behavior, but Una ignores him completely. Instead, she guides me toward an old double-bladed lightsaber that has been severed down the middle—probably by another lightsaber. 

**“Tell me what you see, child,”** Una says, indicating that I touch the broken weapon.

Anakin sulks off to my right, pretending not to care but I can feel the weight of his gaze as I reach out, brushing my fingertips upon the weathered metal.

A flash of blinding white light engulfs my vision, and then I am somewhere else. 

Towering trees loom over me, fractured rays of sun filtering through the leaves and illuminating the fallen bodies of Sith and Republic Soldiers, alike. My breath is ragged. Sweat drips down my brow, stinging my eyes. And then the sight before me shatters and shifts. A man—a Sith—makes a powerful overhead attack with his saber which I struggle to block with my own weapon. Although the attack leaves me unharmed, the ominous red glow slices through the hilt of my double-bladed lightsaber. I must block his next attack with the Force alone. Immense power flows through me, culminating in my fingertips as an intangible shield stops the red saber in mid-air. My muscles quiver from the strain but I am not tired. Not even close. I am only just beginning. I blink, and then I am back in the archives. Only a second has passed despite the blur of events I just endured. 

**“Is this Grand Master Satele’s lightsaber?”** I ask, though I already know the answer.

Master Una nods, a pleased smile on her face.

I explain to them what I saw. My master nods along as I speak, making notes on her datapad—a habit of hers whenever I practice psychometry. Aside from being a Jedi Knight, she is an avid archeologist and enjoys gathering additional information about known artifacts. Despite the displeased downward twist of Anakin’s lips and the annoyed furrow of his brow, the curious gleam in his eyes betrays his true interest. I glare at him, refusing to look away until Una guides us to another display case containing a damaged trooper helmet from the Old Republic. 

My companions watch me expectantly as I tentatively feel the pockmarks and scratches marring the smooth planes of the helmet. I slow my breathing and open my mind. Dense white fog consumes me once more, strangling my senses.

When the fog clears, my head snaps to the left, vision blurring from the force of the strike. Blearily, I lift my gaze to observe my attacker: an imposing person in black, their opaque black visor reflecting my image in muted orange and cream. Sith. A deep, consuming hatred boils in my blood. I struggle against the arms holding me, obscenities spewing from my lips in a last show of bravado. My rage numbs the fear that coils within my belly, allowing me to postpone acceptance of the inevitable. Then, as if in slow motion, I watch the Sith ignite their saber. Red fills my vision. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. Bile stings my throat.

I snap back to the present just as the saber slices through my armor. 

A sheen of sweat coats my skin. I stumble backwards, breaths coming in short, terrified pants. Master Una comes to my aid, steadying me before I teeter off balance. I sense Anakin take a short step toward me, arm outreaching on instinct, but I cannot look at him. Overlapping images from different timelines—different  _ lifetimes _ —of Sith draped in black plague my mind. The stench of burning flesh fills my nose. I can taste blood on my tongue. 

**“What did you see?”** Master Una questions.

**“A Sith executing a trooper. At the Battle of Alderaan, I think.”**

I choose not to go into detail. Memories of death are never pleasant, but especially not now. Not when I had just managed to move on past the nightmarish memories of my own.

Master Una hums in understanding. 

**“Ah, yes, the Sith were beginning to execute Republic troops before Grand Master Satele saved them.”**

**“She was just a Knight when that happened.”** Una smiles when I correct her. 

Her pride soothes me, allowing me to regain what remains of my composure. After that, we continue to wander the halls of the Archives until the sun begins to set on Alderaan and we begrudgingly return to the ship. As much as I love the Jedi Temple, as impressive as the skyscrapers of Coruscant are, they cannot compare to the wild, natural grandeur of Alderaan. I doze off on the ride back to the temple. Murmured voices occasionally cause me to stir, but I eagerly chase after the peaceful relief of slumber. 

Upon our arrival back at the temple, Master Una looks between Anakin and I. The look is familiar, and I am unsurprised when she excuses herself for the evening, saying little more than pleasantries and anecdotes about what we learned at the Archives. 

She taps my shoulder when she moves to leave, giving me a knowing look, and then she turns a corner and disappears down a corridor. The silence is deafening in her absence.

On instinct, I begin the trek back to my chambers. Anakin follows behind me, saying nothing. He is still upset—and I am still annoyed with him. I wait for Anakin to speak his mind, to confess whatever has been eating him since the first time he failed to conjure a memory from an artifact. But he continues to walk without a word despite the volume of his frustration. Anakin carries his failure with him; in his posture, the firm set of his mouth, the cold flame in his eyes. 

I stop abruptly in an empty hallway, pivoting on my heel to glare at him. I cannot stand his pouting any longer. My stare is unwavering, willing him to speak. But he says nothing, resolute in his decision to pout about his failure. 

I’m the first to break.

**“What’s your problem?”** I demand, arms folded across my chest. 

He takes a moment to respond. 

**“I hate failing!”** His declaration is spoken angrily, venomously. His poison is not directed at me, but at himself. 

**“Hate?”** That’s a dangerous statement. 

Anakin notices his mistake, tugging at his braid. 

**“I** **_meant_ ** **that I’m not used to being bad at this stuff,”** he amends.  **“This is** **_supposed_ ** **to be easy for me. It shouldn’t be that hard!”**

I roll my eyes at him. 

**“Most people struggle with new skills,”** I tell him.  **“It’s normal.”**

**“Not for me—”**

**“Oh, shut up, Anakin!”** His whining is annoying.  **“Why don’t you take a deep breath and you can try again?”**

Anakin is silent, his mouth hanging ajar as if the words died in his throat. And then he bobs his head in agreement. I don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice at him, or anyone else, before. Not for a long time, at least. Conflict is not something I ever get involved in, and I am content to let issues pass without making a fuss. However, my companion’s self-pity tests what remains of my patience. 

Inspiration strikes me like lightning to the heart.

**“Practice with this,”** I say, handing him my corusca gem. It glimmers a rich, vibrant green even in the low lighting of the hallway.

**“What is it?”** Anakin asks—a quizzical quirk to his brow.

Our fingers brush as the boy plucks the gems from my hand. My heart jumps to my throat, forcing me to look away while I gather my thoughts. 

**“It’s a gem from my homeworld. A gift from my family before I was brought here to become a Jedi.”**

Anakin makes a small noise at the back of his throat, head bobbing in understanding. Anyone with basic knowledge of valuable items will know just how much money I could get for selling my gem. It is no small gesture for me to offer him something so important.

**“So do I—”**

**“Shut up and just try it. Right here.”**

I immediately feel guilty for interrupting him so rudely, but I am tired of him feeling sorry for himself. I know that he has the ability to access the history of objects if he just tries. Anakin struggles only because he is so accustomed to solving everything with a heavy-handed approach. Psychometry is delicate; it requires a gentle touch.

This time, I notice something different when he enters his meditative state. The lines of his face soften, the edges of his lips quirking upward in a nearly imperceptible smile. The fire in his eyes has cooled, leaving behind a calm blue ocean when he opens his eyes. 

**“What did you see?”** I ask. 

**“The moment your sister gave this to you. She had tears in her eyes and dirt smudged under her left eye. I could** **_feel_ ** **how much you loved her.”**

I nod, throat tightening with emotion. I desperately wish I could see her again. I do not tell Anakin that, of course. Instead, I fix him with a stern expression, extending my hand so he can deposit the gem back into my palm. I try not to think about the disappointment that bubbles within me when our fingers fail to touch a second time.

**“Next time,”** I begin, tucking the stone back into the folds of my robes.  **“You can admit when you’re frustrated and take a break without pouting. You ruined a perfectly good field trip by sulking the entire time.”**

The boy opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him get a word in.

**“I fail all the time and I have** **_never_ ** **thrown a tantrum about it. You are good at everything! You became a padawan later than me and you exceed all of my abilities, but you aren’t perfect. Your life will be much easier when you can accept that.”**

An annoyed huff escapes my lips, shoulders sagging in relief after ridding myself of all the thoughts I withheld throughout the trip to the Archives. Anakin stares at me in stunned silence. Pride swells in my chest, then quickly deflates as insecurity begins to eat away at my confidence. I feel self-conscious about my little outburst, and I worry that I might have overstepped the boundaries between us. 

**“I’m sorry,”** my voice is meek, uncertain.  **“I shouldn’t have—”**

**“No, you’re right.”**

Now, it is my turn to be stunned. His eyes are downcast, posture humbled.

**“I let my feelings get in the way of my learning,”** he admits.  **“I’m sorry…”**

**“I’d like to think that we’re friends, so maybe next time you can talk to me instead of getting angry?”** I offer him a tiny smile in acceptance of his apology.

**“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”** He ducks his head shyly, but I don’t miss the beginnings of a smile creeping across his lips. 

As always, the awkwardness always manages to fill the space between us when the conversation dies. We stand there in the hallway for a moment, looking everywhere but at each other until I begin to shuffle a couple steps backward.

**“Well, um, goodnight, I guess,”** I say with a tentative wave.

**“Goodnight,”** He replies.

Neither of us are sure what to say after that. I am reluctant to part with him now that we established a truce, but I am exhausted from the day and uncomfortable with the silence. We stare at each other a moment longer before heading our separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being MUCH longer than I anticipated. I guess i could have separated it in to multiple, smaller chapters, but it's fine lol
> 
> if you haven't watched the Old Republic cinematic trailers, I highly recommend!! My friends told me about Satele Shan and I just had to include her in a little flashback scene. The MC's homeworld is Sarka, a forested mining planet where corusca gems are produced. Canonly, a reptile species lives there, but all the planets are clonized by many species, so I'm taking the liberty of saying that MC's family immigrated to Sarka to work the mines there. Also, I apologize if the dialogue is awkward. It's intended to be awkward, but not that much. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!!


End file.
